You're My First Last Resort
by Viki Carter
Summary: Draco's heard some bad news; and there's only more than half the world that can help him, but who will he chose? There's only one person that springs to mind when he hears the word "muggle".
1. Chapter 1

Hermione woke abruptly as a loud crack issued from every wall from the house; echoing through the silent night and riccoshaing into her ears as she lay asleep on her side, the covers up to her neck. Quickly rubbing her eyes fully, she pushed herself up and grabbed her wand off the bedside table to see a sight that would forever stay in her memory. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" The woman yelled at the top of her might, thrusting the covers up higher as she stared, transfixed at the dark figure of Draco Malfoy that stood at the end of her bed. "I-I need-" Draco stumbled out the words but Hermione cut him off, screaming with confusion and anger as she pointed her wand at him. "GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM! GET OUT!" She stood up and strode towards him, her wand pointing threateningly at his heart as he took several blind strides backwards away from Hermione; her bushy hair even wilder after sleeping. "Granger I-" Draco's words couldn't be heard behind Hermione's continuing shouts for him to get out of her house. Draco grabbed the sides of the banister as he was pushed backwards towards the stairs. "Granger. Please, calm down. Listen to me!" Malfoy pleaded, trying to get the woman to stop pushing him to his death. "DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Hermione screeched, her voice cracking slightly under the strain. "Gr-Hermione. I need...I need your help." Draco stumbled out, looking both embarrassed and terrified; it couldn't help but remind Hermione of when she'd save his and Goyle's life in a fire some five years previously, his expression now was almost symmetrical. "No you don't." Hermione snarled out, stepping backwards in order to allow Draco to straighten himself before he fell down the stairs. She did not want a court case on her hands. "I do. Please, listen to me." He didn't look frightened anymore, he was pleading with her. Hermione nodded her head somberly, there was something behind those cold eyes that suggested maybe it was help he had come to her for.

* * *

Minutes later, Hermione switched on the kitchen light, a dressing gown now wrapped tightly around her, her wand still held loosely in her hand. The woman walked round Draco, who was sitting at the kitchen table, eyeing up the fruit bowl. "Help yourself," Hermione noted, seeing Malfoy's hungry glances, "want a cup of tea?" "Please." Draco replied, reaching over for an apple and quickly biting into it after rubbing it on his shirt. Hermione reached over and switched on the muggle kettle, before doing a double take and turning back to Malfoy, "I think that's the only time I've ever heard you say 'please' in your life." She said, marveled by the phrase coming from his lips. "Just because you've never heard me say it before doesn't mean I haven't said it. I do know what manners are. Believe it all not." He scowled, setting the apple down in annoyance. Hermione exhaled a deep and theatrical sign, her hand pressed to her chest to emphasis, "And now we have Malfoy back. Feeling better?" She smirked, turning her attention back to the tea; carefully pocketing her wand in the dressing gown. "Shut it Granger. I still know how to hex." He growled, showing nothing but anger on his features as he bit into his fruit again noisily. The kitchen was silent between the two, the only sounds coming from the rain coming softly down on the windows, casting a darker shadow into the room as the night shifted away. "Sorry." Hermione finally admitted, placing a cup of hot liquid in front of the man, who grunted and nodded his head in acceptance. "So, sorry to be so blunt, but what exactly are you doing here?" She asked, sitting down on the chair opposite him, cradling her own mug. "Well, that's a long story." He replied, raising the steaming mug to his lips. Hermione looked skeptically out of the window, the sky wasn't getting any darker than the murky blue it was, and the rain hammering down on the windows wasn't getting any quieter; she wouldn't be able to get back asleep again, not now. "We have all night." She smirked, turning back to face him; settling deeper into her chair as he gave an audible sigh. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione listened without really hearing as Draco said the next words. His face was only partially illuminated with the dimming light; and with Hermione sitting this close, her head on her hand as she watched his mouth move up and down, she found herself analysing his face. His lips were slightly chapped and dry, so much so that he kept occasionally licking his lips with his tongue as he spoke, pausing only to drink his tea. His hair was unkept, and the heavy bags around his lidded eyes suggested a strong lack of sleep; the blonde stubble on his cheeks and around his mouth only highlighting the fact. He looked only a shadow of his former, well kept and tidy self-there was no longer any product in his hair, no porcelain skin, no perfectly sharpen eyebrows. No, everything was out of place, he used to be sharp and bold, now he just looked...tired? Even his baggy, unwashed, clothes suggested that just had no energy anymore. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for him as he recounted his story.

Draco Malfoy had cancer. She didn't exactly know how to react, so when the quiet but bold words escaped his lips, she only frowned slightly-forcing herself to keep in a sigh of sympathy at the revelation.

He had been told to seek help from muggles; to forget his magic and blood and live the rest of his life as a muggle, where he could get the treatment he needed.

Turns out wizards can't solve everything.

In fact, Draco told Hermione of how long it had taken the healers to find out what was wrong with him. He hadn't been without pain in years. His head woke him up every night, and there was only a certain number of times a man could fall over in the street on completely of his own report without knowing he had to seek help. So he did, and yet no one in St. Mungo's had any idea what was wrong with him. At first they assumed it was some repercussion of The Dark Mark, but no one else had a problem, and then they tried reversing hexes and giving him all sorts potions he couldn't even pronounce that just made it worse, and then they did a test that had been brought in by a muggle born to try out on him. And that proved it. Well, they didn't know what exactly it meant-so they got in a muggle doctor which they had to memory charm afterwards, but they found out in the end. And now there was nothing they could do to help him. Except advise he got help from muggles.

And Granger was his last hope. No one else had time for him, no one else wanted the mess, and as he sat at her kitchen table, draining the dregs of his cold tea and asking for her help, he knew deep down that she wouldn't have him. No room at the inn. Too much to deal with. Not her problem.

There was even something in her eyes when she nodded her head very slowly and said she would help him. The words wouldn't even register as he searched her face, wanting nothing more than for the witch to say no. This was embarrassing for him, and it was obviously embarrassing for her-neither of them could look the other in the eye-so why was she agreeing? Why would /she/ help /him/?

"...I'll do the best I can, at least." Hermione finished nervously, looking him dead in the eye for the first time that night; her stomach quavering slightly as she did so.  
"Why?" Draco asked timidly, not quite meeting her gaze. He wanted to leave. He needed to get out of there. The pain was coming back with the humiliation and he could feel his face become hotter, and he suddenly realised how desperate he looked and sounded.  
"Because no matter what's happened in the past, no one deserves to go through anything alone."  
"I'm not alone!" Draco shouted quickly at his defence; he had heard the words so many times in his own head, but hearing them out loud made all the difference. Yet even he could here the obvious doubt in his own counter argument.  
"Okay, not alone, but you need someone's help, and if I am the only person on your list left, then I won't throw you out."

In truth he was alone, nobody, not even his family, wanted to know him anymore-a pureblood sentenced to a short life seeking the help from muggles didn't go down particularly well with the only few people he had only ever had in the world. Even his fiancé had left him, his life was a mess, and hearing these words of kindness that were so unusual to here, it was warming, and it took all he could not to grab her with two hands and shove her into a bone crushing hug just there and then, over the table.

His mouth suddenly became very dry as all the air drained out of him, he didn't know what to say. Why was she being so kind? It suddenly dawned on him that he would never have done the same for her if it was the other way around, and he really couldn't accept it. Could he?  
"I'm sorry it's led to this." Hermione whispered the words into her lap, too afraid to say them out loud-but she needed Malfoy to know she wouldn't tolerate such in-compassion.  
"I'm sorry I had to ask you." He said, ashamed at how sorry he actually was, it was a lot to deal with-especially from someone who used to hate him.

"What would happen if I didn't help you?" Asked Hermione, looking up at him once more.  
"What would happen? I don't know really-" Malfoy gulped, letting the question sink in before he carried on with his improvised answer "-I'd probably just be left to die."  
Instead of any words forming in Hermione's now dry mouth, a little 'o' was formed with her lips, giving her a very sympathetic expression.  
"Don't look at me like that!" Draco snapped, rounding on the muggleborn with a swift growl as he grabbed tight, with two hands, onto the mug infront of him incase he lashed out at her.  
"I'm...I'm sorry..." Hermione trailed off, quickly shutting her mouth as she realised how dumb the expression must have looked.

"What are you sorry for?" Draco growled again, turning his head back to the table, where he continued to nurse his mug as something to do with his hands.  
Hermione's first answer was going to be for looking at him like she was a two year old seeing a friend get a toy taken off them, but as she was about to say so, she realised that wasn't what he meant. His face was contorted now, and although he was turned as fully as he could away from her without actually moving the chair, she could tell that he was in pain-both emotionally and physically. He looked as though he had been slapped as he scrunched up his eyes and have a sharp intake of breath, gently releasing it as he looked up at the ceiling-daring himself not to cry as he tried to get the tears back into his eyes. No use, he quickly turned his chair fully away from her so he was no longer facing the sympathetic mudblood. No one had ever cared before. Why was she doing this?

"I'm-I'm sorry that you've been treated this way. And I'm sorry it's taken you to come to _me_ for help. I'm sorry for having hesitations about helping you. I'm sorry for the fact that you've got some stupid illness when I don't believe you deserve it." Hermione's soft words were whispered only really to herself, but Draco heard them loud and clear, and they made his chest tight and his face hotter as more tears allowed them selves to talk against his will. It was at that moment when he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was only a light touch, but it was the first human touch he had had since he was diagnosed.

Hermione felt his shoulders shake as she squeezed him more tightly, reassuring him that she was there. She was his last resort, his only resort left; and she would have said yes even if she was the first he had turned to. He really didn't deserve to die, not alone like this, yes he had done terrible things but not nearly as bad as he could have done.

"Thankyou." He managed to whimper out as the almost silent sobbing subsided.  
"What are you saying that for?" Hermione smirked from behind him, squeezing his shoulder one last time before standing up and going over to the counter to pour out some more tea.  
"Just thankyou for everything." He turned to face her, wiping his nose as he watched her hurry about the kitchen making tea and putting biscuits and some cake on to a plate. The rain had stopped now to only a slight drizzle, and the light was coming up slowly as the night slowly creeped into morning.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N: so I've decided I'll aim to update every Monday and Tuesday-not sure how I feel about this chapter so please read and review and keep hopefully still keep with me!

* * *

"Has the famous Draco Malfoy just said 'thankyou' to a mudblood-and meant it?!" Hermione sneered from behind him, a small smirk on her well defined features.  
"I've changed you know," Draco said defensively, turning quickly in his chair to look at the woman with a smile, before the expression faded and he faced the table again, "This thing I have, knowing your time is running out, it changes you."

The mood darkened considerably, and for some reason, Hermione didn't think a plate of Jammy Dodgers were suitable at the present moment, but placed them on the table in front of Draco anyway, sitting back down on her vacated seat opposite his.  
"I'm sorry." She said sympathetically, reaching out a hand and placing it on top of Malfoy's own, resting it there for a few seconds before the man sharply pulled his hand away.  
"I told you I don't want your fucking sympathy!" Draco spat out with audible venom, causing Hermione to frown deeply as she put her hand on the handle of her cup for somewhere to put it; Draco was on his feet now, his chair pushed back as he span out of it, a hand wiping spit from his mouth, looking like he had just been slapped.

"I-I..." Hermione started, but she had no words for the dying man that stood in front of her, pacing her kitchen floor.  
"I'm not who I was," Draco interrupted, ignoring her, "I'm not that prick I was in Hogwarts, that all changed after my bastard of a father got arrested. And I swear, I'm never going back to how I was; that selfish spoilt brat I was. I used to be cruel, a bully even, especially to you and Potter," Draco was on a tangent now, pacing the hall, his biscuit still in his hand, "I'd have known then, what I know now, well, if I'd have never had called you a 'mudblood' and cursed you every bloody night."

"It's okay." Hermione said softly, meaning it with her whole heart, never in this moment had he looked more vulnerable; biting softly on his Jammy Dodger, his hair even more messy as he ran a hand through it, the light bouncing off his pale and sickly skin.  
"That's the thing Hermione, it's not okay. It never will be okay," he had stopped pacing now, and had turned full on to look at her dead in the eye, "what I did was inexcusable, I killed Dumbledore, I'll forever have to live with that. I killed the kindest man on earth. I killed the greatest wizard of all time. And I tell you something now Hermione, I killed a part of myself that night. Is been dying for months, but that night finished me off. And trust me, I'm dying right now because of the fucking disease, but it's nothing compared to how I was then. I was sixteen and a murderer. Now I'm twenty-nine and a murderer. I deserve this." Draco's breathing had gone heavy and his words decreasing in volume, but he still stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, chest heaving, with his eyes fixed on Hermione.

The woman herself was finding it hard to think straight; she wasn't exactly sure if she was more surprised that Draco had called her 'Hermione' twice in one sentence, or the fact he blamed himself for Dumbledore's death. She decided the latter was probably the most important right now.

"Why do you blame yourself?" She knew as soon as she said it it was a stupid thing to say, and visibly winced as Draco's eyes turned dark.  
"Why?" Draco mused with the question, torturing Hermione as he twisted the word with his low voice; "Why Granger, you're supposed to be smart," he spat out, a smirk on his lips as he crept further and further back into the shadow so he was leaning against the kitchen counter, making him look even more menacing as he towered over her, eyes blazing, "Why? Well, let's see, why do I blame myself? Probably because it was me who had the orders, me who disarmed him, me who raised my wand at him, me who looked him in his eyes and saw his pleading. Me who didn't look away." Draco said every word with as much poison as he could muster, and truth be told, it frightened Hermione.

She had almost forgotten this side of him; but right now this was some thing else, he was being deep and open about his thoughts-it sounded to her asif this was the first time he had ever said any of this out loud, and the memory seemed to pain him too as he stared at his hands in disgust-but he was still using his powers of manipulation to make a grown woman feel small in her own home.

But the words hadn't come out with any particular meaning. He was just saying them. Reeling them off as he ticked them off in his head; the reasons why he blamed himself. He hasn't meant to turn on Hermione, had he? It was a simple question; but she was winding him up, she had been all night, she just didn't say the right things. She never said the right things, and now here he was feeling almost bad for snapping repeatedly. Oh well, he'll blame the brain tumour.

* * *

He didn't, of course, but he didn't really feel bad for it either. In truth, he was feeling slightly happy at the fact he was finally getting some of himself back. The part that lashed out and snapped and hurt people. And right then, in that moment, staring up at Hermione's living room ceiling with a blanket badly keeping him warm in the sofa half an hour later, he decided that he would try and get his spark back. No more asking muggles for help; and if he was to have to live with Granger and live her stupid squib life, he'd make sure she knew that even though he had an illness that was slowly and painfully killing him, he wouldn't let it make him any less a Slytherin. Ha, well, that would teach the girl not to be sympathetic towards him.  
He would start in the morning, first thing.  
And that was his last thought before he fell gently asleep, right before the image of Hermione sleeping right above him.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco woke to the unfamiliar ceiling above him, and it took him a few disorientated moments to realise where he was. Rising from the sofa, he ritually straightened the pillow and blanket and sat back down on it, looking forward at Granger's fire-place as he got himself straight as his brain unclogged, and reality deepened through-along with a splitting headache; one that would have knocked him off balance five months ago, but it was a pain he had gotten used to now, and nothing tablets wouldn't dim.

Swallowing two of the pink painkillers, the objects on the mantelpiece became clearer; there were only three framed images on the shelf above the tall fireplace, as well as an assortment of 'nick-nacks'. The first and largest photo, on the far left, was of Granger, Weasley and Potter all together, taken on a day out somewhere sunny, as they wave at the camera, faces smiling and laughing as the image showed The Ginger saying a remark to Hermione which made her double over and hide her face from the camera. It couldn't have been taken long after they left school, as there was an obvious age difference with the photo Hermione and the Hermione that came in to give him a cup of tea with a curt smile.

The middle photo-as Draco realised after much scrutinising-was an unmoving portrait of Hermione with what must be her parents, Draco was about to ask this theory out loud to the women but she had already vacated the room.

The last photo was another wizard one, showing a field full of happy wedding guests, and then Granger, Weasley, the Girl Weasley, and Potter all moving to the camera and showing off. The younger Weasley was wearing a wedding dress, and Malfoy assumed that by Potter's costume he was the groom. But it wasn't really the happy couple that caught his eye, it was Hermione. Her messy-as he remembered it-brown hair had been neatly pinned back into a bun, with curled strands coming down to shape her face and highlight her solid features. She was wearing only a cheap, thin, red, braidsmade dress-but it looked perfect on her. She looked younger than she did now, but older than the far left photo. Draco swapped his stare from either moving frames as he made sure he was right about an age gap.

"That was Harry and Ginny's wedding a few years ago," coming back into the room silently, Hermione smiled, following Malfoy's gaze to the photograph and picking it up and looking at it herself, a reminiscent smile on her pale lips as she lifted her mug to her mouth and setting the frame back down.  
Ginny, so that was the name of Weasley's sister-Draco made a mental note to forget it again. Pointless facts like that hurt his head.  
"How old are you in that one?" Draco was pointing at the picture of her and her parents, and Hermione smiled again as she sat down beside him on the couch, looking at the photograph from afar.  
"About 19, 20? It was just after The Battle." She didn't say the words with any particular meaning, but the words sunk deep into Draco; it was the first time either of them had spoken about what had happened on May 2nd 1998. It was twelve years ago, but the memory of that year will forever be imprinted in Draco's mind-no brain cancer was going to get rid of that darkness.

The silence was prominent between the two as they both thought about the picture, and what it meant. Draco was staring at her mother; she was actually quite attractive-but nowhere near as much as his own mother. He had almost forgotten that the pair in the still picture were muggles. They looked so...normal. Except for the clothes. His mother wore nicer dresses; and father would never be seen in that...what do they call them? T-Shirts? Draco realised that he would soon have to wear one of them if he were to associate himself with _them_; voicing these thoughts out loud, but without turning to Hermione, he broke the silence:

"I'll need to buy muggle clothes. I've been putting it off for too long, but I just have no idea..." The man trailed off, his eyes bearing into the unmoving eyes of the man in the frame.  
"We can go today?" Hermione suggested softly, glancing towards Draco nervously, "I'm not in work until this afternoon, but would you be okay here? You can tidy the spare room and sleep in there tonight?" Hermione's voice waved as she thought about the implications of leaving Draco Malfoy in the house on his own, but she had given him her word.  
And besides, she had spent the rest of the night before lying awake in bed thinking things over; and she never wasted that precious sleep for anything.  
"Sure." Malfoy shrugged off, knowing that the job was better done sooner than later.  
"Have you got muggle money?" Hermione inquired suddenly, the thought only just striking her.  
"Erm...no..." Draco admitted, "I was hoping you would help out with that one too..." And for the first time that morning, the man chanced a quick smile at the woman sitting beside him.  
The Gryffindor returned the smile and placed her mug to her lips, "Sure." 

* * *

A.N: Yes, I know this was terrible and short and I'm sorry but I wanted to update


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